


Blood Brothers

by Lakritzwolf



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sinuessa, canon timeline is mostly ignored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-17 07:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: After the argument with Agron, Nasir storms out in anger, and Agron lets him go so he can cool off while denying that he is in need of the same. Yet Nasir fails to return...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This happens in Sinuessa but is in not really tied canon. I also take very big liberties regarding the timeline of canon events and claim artistic license. Blood Brothers is the name of the episode where the argument happens, and I take it from there.

Of course, a confrontation is inevitable, and as postponed arguments are prone to go, it keeps getting worse with each sentence.

“Agron, pause a moment!”

“Spartacus is due upon docks. I would greet his return.”

“And I would have much needed words.”

“I yet have none to break.”

“Is it a common trait among men east of the Rhine to run from a fight?”

“No. Yet I have learned it one of a Syrian to shit lies from mouth and deem them sweetest nectar!”

“I have not broken trust with you!”

“You were with Castus after I commanded you remain absent his company!”

“Commanded? The collar that once bound my neck is but distant memory. Do not think I will slip it round again for you!”

“Do not raise fucking hackle! If I had been discovered with the Cilician after promises made to you, you would be of equal passion.”

“I came upon Castus in the street while Crixus and the others were seized with madness! We broke for you and Spartacus absent time even for words to pass between us!”

“And I am to believe, of all within the city, he miraculously appears by your side?”

“As I would believe you. In all things. And yet you chose to treat my word as lies and me as something you hold ownership of.” 

“You know I hold no ownership over you!”

“And yet you treat me as such! What will you do next? Lock me away so no man can lay eyes upon me?”

“Your eyes upon the man-”

“I but gave him a smile! Just as I would to Crixus or Spartacus or Naevia! And you act as if I had taken to bed with him!” 

“And yet I find him constantly appearing at your side!”

“If he follows me then it is by his choice, not mine! I did not encourage him, neither in deed nor word, and yet his mere presence causes you to fly into mindless rage!”

“I see him trying to come between us at every opportunity!”

“Is that what you see? Do you really think so low of me? That I would turn my back on you the moment I cast a look at a man who is pleasing to the eye?”

“Then do not fucking cast your eyes on him like that!”

“I will not let you command me where to look! If you had rather Tiberius at your side who looks subserviently at his feet then you should not have set him free!”

After snarling with bared teeth Nasir storms out of the room and Agron watches him go, gritting his teeth while enveloped in a rage of his own.

“Fucking Syrians.”


	2. Chapter 2

Agron’s mood got worse towards the evening with the increasing amount of wine consumed. The others kept out of his way, recognising his mood as that of a man just waiting for someone to make his day, and when Agron finally entered the chamber he shared with Nasir, he was ready for another serious argument. 

But the chamber was empty. 

Maybe it was better like that. He hated arguing with his little man (although he never called him that, not even affectionately, as Nasir hated it) and he could do without more angry words broken between them. If only he could make Nasir see his fucking point.

Half drunk and in a foul mood Agron slept very poorly that night, and when light woke him and he crawled out of the blankets, he discovered that he was still alone. 

Most of his anger had evaporated overnight however, and now he found himself slightly worried. Sure, he was also still relieved that Nasir had not been to bed that night as it would have led to another argument, but it wasn’t like him to just go and sulk somewhere. 

Agron rubbed his hands down his face with a wry grin. Sulking was his job, not Nasir’s.

Ignoring his mildly throbbing head he left their chambers to find some food, as drinking always left him ravenous. Not only for food, but that would have been the very last thing to have happened the night before. Shaking his head Agron grabbed a piece of bread from a basket sitting on a table and took a bite. Chewing with full cheeks he then set off to find Nasir. 

He was nowhere in the villa, and no one had seen him. 

Agron suppressed more worried thoughts as Nasir was more than capable to watch out for himself. He knew that occasionally he worried about his heart’s safety too much, despite him having become a warrior Agron was most proud of. He would not have come to harm. There were no Romans left in this city anyway but those in this villa, so where was the point?

But then, Nasir might have sought out better company.

Grumbling under his breath Agron found himself a place in the shade behind the columns surrounding the atrium, and watched the sun’s reflection on the water. The square basin was decorated with a very intricate pattern of different coloured tiles, creating a beautiful mosaic of swimming dolphins and naked women. A few leaves and bits of grass were floating in the water and dirt and sand had collected on the floor. A pair of sandals lay discarded next to it, together with a belt. 

Agron took another bite of bread and kept his eyes on the entrance door. Doubtlessly Nasir would come any moment to take morning meal, and then Agron would have to make him see how ridiculous any assumptions were about him seeing Nasir as property or as his to command. 

_You were with Castus after I commanded you remain absent his company!_

His hand froze halfway up to his mouth. 

“Fuck the gods...” 

But he hadn’t meant it. Agron stared at the bread in his hand. Nasir would know he hadn’t meant it that way.

Duro had told him often enough he had to watch that fucking temper of his. Agron had laughed and had told Duro he needed to find his inner fire himself, because he hadn’t wanted to admit he had a temper. He had heard that word often enough during the last years however, so by now he was ready to admit that maybe, he did have a bit of a temper after all. 

And this time it had gotten the better of him and he had spouted words of jealousy in the worst way possible. 

“Fuck the gods!”

Agron kept shaking his head and looked at his bread, his appetite quite gone. He ate it anyway because he knew his body needed the nourishment and because it would have been wasteful, especially so with the meagre resources they already had. 

Stuffing the last bit of the bread into his mouth Agron got up and left the villa to find Nasir, preparing words of apology in his mind as he did so. He wasn’t good at words, though. Never had been, never would be. How Nasir managed to read his mind so often, even better than Agron himself could, was a mystery. 

Which meant that Agron’s harsh, thoughtless words must have stung twice as hard. 

He shook his head again with an angry groan and quickened his pace, trying to think of places where Nasir might be. But apart from the villa where they had residence, he could be anywhere within the walls of this fucking city. 

Sentences of yesterday’s argument surfaced in his mind like floating turds, and each one made him feel worse. 

_And I am to believe, of all within the city, he miraculously appears by your side?_

_As I would believe you. In all things._

“You fucking imbecile,” Agron muttered and felt the urge to punch himself. “You fucking piece of shit…”

He was now jogging, from one place to the next, as he knew the lodgings of a few others of his people. Not that he believed Nasir would actually stay with them, but they might have seen him. 

By the time the sun stood at zenith, he still had found no trace. 

He had been to the stores, the horreum, the stables, and the harbour. He had combed several villas and had asked everyone whom he thought might be knowing Nasir or at least his face, if he had been seen. The answer was always the same. The young Syrian seemed to have vanished into thin air. 

At one point shortly after noon, Agron found himself at the harbour again and stared at the cobblestones while digging his fingers into his hair. 

Steps coming from behind made him spin around, but it was Donar, not Nasir, who was approaching. 

“Spartacus has me running through whole fucking city!” Donar reached his side and shook his head. “He needs you at his side.”

Agron nodded and fell beside the other German as they headed back to Spartacus’ villa. 

“What has gotten into you anyway?” Donar asked.

Not wanting to admit it, Agron grumbled something under his breath. 

“Spit it out.” Donar elbowed him into the ribs. 

“I broke angry words with Nasir,” Agron admitted rather unwillingly. “And he slept not in our bed last night.”

Donar snorted and shook his head. “And you think he is in need of rescuing?”

“No,” Agron sad sharply and looked up. “He is in need of receiving apologies.”

“Oh.” Donar looked ahead again. “Did your fucking temper get the better of you again?”

Agron just sighed and shook his head. 

“He will come back,” Donar said and slapped Agron’s back. “Angry words or no, he will not be from your side for long.” Then he cast a look at Agron and raised his eyebrows. “What was it about?”

“I fail to see how that is any of your business.”

“It was about that fucking Cilician, was it not?”

Agron just gritted his teeth as Donar groaned and shook his head. 

“Agron, it is beneath you to act like that. Your boy has made it clear-”

“He is not my boy!”

Donar shook his head again, but refrained from further words.

Once they had reached the villa Agron’s feeble hope Nasir might have had returned in his absence was immediately dashed. He tried to clear his mind of all those invading thoughts of self-loathing and worry as he entered the room where Spartacus and Crixus were brooding over maps. 

“You wanted to break words?” Agron asked, trying to act as if nothing was amiss.

“We need to discuss strategy,” Spartacus said and Agron nodded as he stepped closer. 

Together they went over several different strategies as to how to hold the city or how to retreat without enormous numbers of casualties. Spartacus shoved some tokens across the map, but Agron had little of worth to contribute. He was not a strategist.

“We have to find solution quickly,” Spartacus eventually said and sighed. “Provisions are running lower still.”

“What about the Cilicians?” Agron asked reluctantly, trying to keep his voice neutral. Yet the looks of the other two told him he had been far from successful.

“We could not come to another satisfying agreement with Heracleo,” Spartacus replied heavily. 

“The shit-eater would strip us bare to the bones,” Crixus said with a sneer, “and still feed us only crumbs.”

“They left at sunrise with morning tide,” Spartacus went on. “We will see no more help from them.”

“Fuck the gods.” Agron gritted his teeth for a moment. 

They went on discussing several ways of getting supplies into the city, but so far all was built on speculations bound by thin threads of hope. All of them posed enormous risks, both for those who would undertake the venture and for those remaining within the city walls, so Spartacus was very reluctant to decide on a course of action. 

There were a handful of fishing boats in the harbour, and among the rebels were a few who knew how to take to sea and throw nets. Yet fish alone could not feed the entire city. And since their attempt at buying grain from the Cilicians had failed, they had to ration their grain and bread even more. 

Agron was listlessly chewing on a piece of less than fresh bread as he left the atrium again to head for the inner garden, when he ran into Lugo and Saxa.

“Where your little man?” Saxa asked. “You fucked him raw?”

Lugo bellowed out a laughter, but it faltered when he saw Agron’s facial expression. 

“He like shadow,” Saxa said and narrowed her eyes. “Always glued to heel. Where is he?”

“I have no knowledge of his whereabouts,” Agron said tersely. “And neither do you, I presume?”

Lugo and Saxa both shook their heads, and Agron pushed past them with an angry sigh. 

There was no sign of Nasir having been in their room, not a single dust mote lay undisturbed. 

“Fuck.” Agron let himself fall onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck!”

He didn’t sleep at all that night, and he was up again with the first grey of dawn. No one was awake but him and the two men assigned as guards, and the only living things yet up were a cat and a handful of seagulls. 

Having reached the entrance to the city Agron climbed the ladder that led to the ramparts above the gate, but none of the men on the walls had seen a trace of Nasir that night. 

Worry was forming a knot in his stomach as he walked along the walls until he reached the harbour again, and watched the city come to life before he climbed the next ladder down. He stood there for a moment after his feet had hit the cobblestones and looked around. 

Two fishermen hauled their nets from their ships, and a flurry of seagulls descended down upon the writhing mass of silvery bodies with howling shrieks. A gaggle of kids was assigned to chase them away, and a group of men and women now took to the work of cleaning and gutting the fish. 

Agron walked towards the group of people, not knowing what else to do. He had to describe Nasir’s appearance, yet none of them had ever heard of him. 

“Small man, you say?” A middle-aged man with short, greying curls suddenly straightened up and squinted short-sightedly up at him. “Long black hair?”

Agron swallowed and nodded hastily. “Have you laid eyes upon him?”

“If it is the same man we speak of, then I did,” the older man replied. “Small of statue yet shapely muscled, long black hair bound back?”

“Yes,” Agron said, trying to rein in his growing impatience. “When and where did you lay eyes upon him?”

“Yesterday morning,” the man went on. “Came here when the fishermen hauled in their catch.”

“And where did he go?” Agron took another step forward. 

He was not prepared for what he heard next, and it made his blood run cold.

The man pointed seawards. “He left with the Cilicians.”


	3. Chapter 3

Agron stood dumbfounded for a moment, unable to fathom those words. 

Left with the Cilicians?

The seagulls shrieked overhead, and the women kneeling around the filled net were singing a song as they worked. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. A gust of wind tugged at Agron’s threadbare coat and goose bumps formed on his arms.

The man who had spoken to Agron now picked up a large basket of cleaned and gutted fish, gave him a nod, and left. Agron didn’t look at him but at the sea, at the horizon, where his love and his heart had vanished. Forever vanished.

It wasn’t possible.

The bright shards of light rippling on the water turned to murky spots of pale gold. Agron blinked a few times to clear his eyes, and he was gritting his teeth so hard now his jaws hurt. 

And yet a part of his mind refused to accept Nasir was gone. 

It wasn’t possible. 

How long he had been standing there staring at the sea Agron was unable to say, but at one point he tore his eyes away and turned around. And then he still had no idea how to proceed. What to do next. How life was supposed to go on now. 

A heavy, burning pain settled in his chest, and Agron wondered briefly if this was how it felt to be stabbed through the heart. 

He hadn’t made a conscious decision about it, but he found himself on his way back to Spartacus’ villa, and he avoided everyone’s gaze upon him. Yet on his way to his chamber, he was intercepted by Crixus. 

“Stop sulking about your boy,” the Gaul said with a barely suppressed sneer. “We have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Agron, for once, felt no urge to bristle at Crixus’ words; he shrugged, then nodded, and wordlessly followed the other man across the atrium towards the study where Spartacus was still brooding over the map. Their leader looked up at him, and a frown immediately appeared on his face. 

“Have you had news of Nasir?”

Agron swallowed and licked his lips, ignoring Crixus’ annoyed huff of breath. 

“I have,” he replied in a heavy voice. 

The tone made Spartacus straighten up and narrow his eyes. “Speak. Have you found him?”

Shaking his head, Agron swallowed again. “No,” he said, his voice toneless and dead. “And I never shall.”

Spartacus leaned forward, his frown deepening, and now Crixus took a step towards them, lowering his eyebrows as well. 

“What happened?” The Gaul asked. 

Agron took a deep breath. “He was seen yesterday morning at the harbour,” he said, still not believing his own words. “He left with the Cilicians.”

“Nonsense,” Crixus snapped. “Who would believe that?”

After a moment, Agron slowly looked up at him. “I have been through the whole city twice and I turned every stone looking for him. No one has seen him. And the only trace I found was a man who had seen him leave. What else am I to make of this?”

The two other men looked at him in heavy silence. 

“It is not possible,” Spartacus said after a moment. “It does not sound like anything Nasir would do.”

“Spartacus is right,” Crixus said. “Angry words or no, he would not just run off like that.”

Agron shrugged, no idea what else to say. 

At that moment Naevia entered the room as well, and stepped towards Spartacus. “We have a problem,” she said. 

“So do we,” Spartacus replied and narrowed his eyes. “What other bad news awaits us now?”

“What has already befallen you?” Naevia asked back. 

“Break words,” Spartacus said. 

Naevia looked at each man, narrowing her eyes in turn. “Grain has vanished without being accounted for.”

“Fuck.” Crixus shook his head. “What else is going to vanish next?”

“What meaning do your words hold?” Naevia asked, tilting her head. 

“Nasir is gone,” Crixus replied. 

Naevia looked at Agron, who stared straight ahead, and back at Crixus. 

“Agron told us he has been seen yesterday morning, leaving with the Cilicians.”

Naevia blinked once, very slowly, and then shook her head. “No.”

“Yes,” Agron said. “I spoke to a man who saw him leave.”

“Nasir would never do that,” Naevia said firmly.

“And yet he is gone,” Agron gave back sharply. 

Naevia shook her head again. “For what reason?”

Agron hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and shook his head. “We broke angry words, and I said things I very much regret.”

“And you think this is enough to make him leave?” Naevia crossed her arms. “Exchanging a few angry words?”

“I said things-”

“You said so,” Naevia interrupted him. “And they would have been because of Castus.”

Agron looked at his feet.

“Nasir would never do such a thing,” Naevia said firmly. “He may be angry, he may even turn his back on you, but he is dedicated to our cause. There is no reason to leave it all behind.”

Now Agron looked up again. 

“So you had an argument,” Crixus said. “Naevia and I break angry words too from time to time.”

“But you have never accused her of breaking trust with you.”

“No, and never had I reason to. And while I do not know how much reason you might have had, why would this be enough to drive him away from us all?”

“And yet this is exactly what happened!” Agron huffed out a breath and pinched his eyes shut. He felt like throwing the table against the wall, but lacked the strength even to lift his arms. 

“No,” Naevia suddenly said, her voice set in stone. “No, Nasir would never do such a thing.”

“And where, pray, did he go then?” Agron crossed his arms.

“He might have gone with the Cilicians,” she replied. “A thing I doubt. Yet if it has been so, then he has not done so of his own free will.”

The three men stared at her in silence, but Agron felt his heart begin to race. 

Crixus narrowed his eyes. “So do you think Castus has taken Nasir with him by force?”

“Or he might have gone with him because he is the better man,” Agron said tonelessly. “Castus did not attack him or me out of jealousy.”

“And you really believe he would rather live with pirates than follow a cause he believes in?” Crixus shook his head. “He followed Spartacus, not only you.”

“And what does it change?” Agron looked at him, arms still tightly crossed. “He is gone.”

Suddenly, Agron could no longer stand their looks, could no longer bear any company. He spun around and left the villa in what was almost a run, and he didn’t stop until he found himself at the harbour again. 

Clenching his jaw he stared out towards the horizon. He wondered if Nasir having been taken instead of having gone by choice made it better or worse, but he didn’t need more than a second of thinking to know the answer. Heracleo could make attempt of selling him again. Or making him Castus’ slave. Whereas had he gone willingly it only meant he was now with Castus instead of Agron. Had chosen another man and another life.

And the way Agron had treated him lately, Castus was the better man. 

He heard steps, but did not look around. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to break words, and he wanted neither pity nor scorn. Although he certainly deserved the latter.

Crixus stepped beside him in silence, crossed his arms, and followed Agron’s eyes, resting his own on the horizon as well. Neither of the two said a word. 

Eventually it was Agron after all who broke the silence. As if poking at the wound would make it any better. As if he felt the need to make the pain worse because he deserved every second of it. 

“Does it not lift heart,” he asked hoarsely, “to see me in the same pain you have been in? Your heart lost to you forever?”

“Yet she was not lost,” Crixus replied slowly. “She was returned to me.”

“Not by my merit.”

“No.” Crixus exhaled softly. “And while I understood reasoning, I could not forgive action.”

Agron could only shake his head. 

“I tried to put it behind me,” Crixus went on after a moment. “Naevia and I had words, and many times. Many good men were lost in attempt at freeing her, men who followed me, not because they believed in my cause.” He made another long pause. “And if you had come, many more would have been lost. And no one would have been left to see her to safety after her escape.”

Water lapped at the quay wall, with a few seagulls bobbing on the waves. A few others flew past above them across the harbour bay towards the western shore. 

“Believe me,” Agron said eventually, his throat thick and his chest feeling as if trapped in a vice. “If I had known back then what I know now...” He swallowed hard. “I would have been the first man at your side.”

Crixus inhaled deeply, and now turned around to face him. Agron kept staring straight ahead, however, and did not move. 

“No,” Crixus said then. “It does not lift heart. I wish that kind of pain on no one, even less so on a man I call brother.”

Now Agron did look up at him, a bitter little smile on his face. “You call me brother after all that happened between us?”

“I made attempt on Spartacus’ life on more than one occasion,” Crixus replied. “And we still hold each other as brothers. And while you are a piece of shit from east of the Rhine, we waded through seas of roman blood side by side.”

Agron looked at the horizon again and gritted his teeth. 

“That you do not call me a shit-eating Gaul now lends cause to worry.”

“It is but the truth,” Agron pressed out. “A piece of shit. I drove Nasir out of my arms, and now he is gone.”

“Agron,” Crixus said with a mirthless little chuckle. “You place far too much importance on yourself.”

A gush of fury washing over him Agron spun around, every hair on his body standing on edge. Yet there was no sneer on Crixus’ face. 

“I stand with Naevia,” the Gaul said. “If he went with the Cilicians, he did not go of his own accord. And while harsh words have driven him from you, they are not the cause of his absence.”

Agron took a deep breath, his heartbeat slowly calming down. 

“Naevia left often enough in a huff after we broke angry words,” Crixus went on. “And not always did she carry weapon. Nasir had no reason to take his spear with him. There are no enemies left in the city, why would he burden himself with arms? No.” And here Crixus rested a hand on Agron’s shoulder. “He is gone because the Cilicians outnumbered and overcame him, not because he left the house. They could have taken him on his way outside somewhere for a piss. The reason why he was outside does not matter.”

Agron looked at the man with whom he had held so many disagreements, whose face he had wanted to polish with his fist on many occasions, a feeling that was entirely mutual. And yet, at this moment, he found only compassion in the other man’s eyes. 

“We will find him, brother,” Crixus said. 

“How would that come to pass?” Agron asked, the hopelessness of the situation almost suffocating. “There is no way for us to leave this city safe by boat, and there is none that could carry us across the sea. And even if there was, where would we start? Which harbour would we seek?” He pointed out towards the horizon. “Neapolis? Genua? Somewhere on Cilicia?” He shook his head. “Egypt? Thrace? Greece? Syria? Gallia, or Iberia? Where? I could be racing from port to port for years and not even find a trace of that fucking Cilician.”

Crixus looked at him with tight lips. 

“He is gone,” Agron said tonelessly and looked at the horizon again. His vision was blurring, but he was past the point of being ashamed of tears. “He is gone.”

He still felt that it was his fault, partly at least, and while he could not deny the truth in Crixus’ words they did little to ease his pain. 

And the thought of Nasir being out there, cast into what terrible fate might await him, broke his heart. He could feel it; he could almost hear it – a bright, sharp pain in his chest, and that very second, a part of him died. 

Crixus’ hand tightened around his shoulder again, and Agron followed him back to the villa. Not because he desired company but because he could not bear to look at the sea any longer.


	4. Chapter 4

The next two days passed in a strange blur. There were hours that Agron had no memory of, no idea what had happened, and others where he stared at Apollo travelling across the heavens who yet did not seem to move an inch within an hour. 

The one thing that did not escape his notice, however, was that Crixus was never far from his side. He was not watching him, or playing shadow, and even less to relish in Agron’s pain. He was just there. 

Agron wondered every now and then if he should be annoyed by the Gaul’s presence or not, until the moment when one of the men he did not know well tried to make a degrading joke about Agron being without his boy. Crixus had impaled the man with his gaze, and the topic had never arisen again. And at that moment Agron was more than grateful for his company.

And that evening on the second day, Crixus found Agron sitting with his back against the wall in the garden, mostly silent at this time of day as the atrium was where everyone gathered. He lowered himself down next to Agron and offered him an amphora. 

Agron took it with a nod of thanks without looking at him and poured a generous amount of wine down his throat. 

“There is hope yet,” Crixus said after a long moment of heavy silence.

“What hope is there?” Agron asked and took another sip of wine. 

“As long as he is alive, there is hope.” Crixus stretched out his legs. “Nasir is no longer a former slave boy. He is resourceful, and cunning, and strong.”

“I know,” Agron replied tonelessly. 

“He will yet find a way to escape,” Crixus went on. “Just as I know that Naevia would, should similar fate befall her.”

“So you would not worry?” Agron looked at him from the corner of his eyes. 

“I would worry myself half to death,” Crixus said. “But I would try and trust her strength.”

Agron took another sip of wine, then handed the amphora back to Crixus who took a sip as well. 

“What surprises me,” Agron began and dropped his head against the wall at his back, “is that you, of all men, come here to try and offer comfort.”

“That is because I know better than anyone, save Spartacus maybe, how you feel.”

“All of us have lost someone dear.”

“Yet few have lost someone so close to heart.”

“Like you lost Naevia.”

Crixus handed the amphora back. “Like I lost Naevia.”

“I would think I deserve this, having driven him away,” Agron said after a moment.

“I shared my thoughts on this,” Crixus said. “He is not gone because of your angry words. If anyone was at fault for losing his heart, then it was me. I pursued Naevia’s attention despite knowing that my Domina was lusting after me, and that she was a jealous old cunt. I should have stayed away from Naevia, but I... I could not.” He looked at Agron again, and Agron finally looked back. “If I had stayed clear, if I had not offered so many gentle words and caresses, she would not have lain with me, and Ashur would have had no lever for another treachery.” 

The two men looked at each other. 

“That is what fault is, Agron. I put her in a situation that made her vulnerable. And she paid the price, not I.”

Crixus handed Agron the amphora, and Agron accepted it with a nod. He took a deep breath and then exhaled in a hard huff of breath before taking more wine. 

“The thought of Nasir...” He swallowed. “The thought...of Nasir in chains is just...”

“Unbearable, I know.” Crixus crossed his legs. “As was the thought of Naevia in the mines.”

“And it was-”

“Not your fault she was there,” Crixus cut him off. “We have been over this.”

Agron took another swig of wine. “I still regret that my actions condemned her to another day.”

“Naevia has never held anything against you, and I have accepted apologies.” Crixus sighed. “I would hear no more of this.”

“And does Naevia herself have anything to do with your presence here and now, maybe?” Agron asked with the ghost of a smile.

Crixus huffed. “Maybe.”

Shaking his head, Agron passed the amphora back and looked up at the stars again. 

“There is hope, however slim,” Crixus said again. “And when we have escaped this fucking city, you can go to Cilicia and find words on the disgusting fuck Heracleo.”

“I am part of this fucking war,” Agron said slowly.

“So is Nasir.”

Crixus held out the amphora again and Agron took it. Realising the wine was almost gone he knocked it back and emptied it. 

“Get rest,” Crixus said and got up, then held out his hand to Agron. 

Agron took the offered hand and let himself be helped onto his feet. “Sleep will not come.”

“Then rest. Let your body rest even if your mind cannot.”

It was sound advice, and Agron followed it. No, his mind did not find rest. He dozed off a few times, only to be woken again by disturbing, frightening dreams. 

It was long past midnight when he had to leave his bed again for a piss, and when he came back, his eyes wandered across the empty room. 

Nasir had not many possessions, neither of them had, and now Agron’s eyes fell onto the small table in the corner. Nasir’s grey, woollen cowl lay there, neatly folded and just waiting for its owner to come back. With hesitant steps Agron walked across the room and reached out to pick it up. 

He let the fabric slide through his fingers, and a hundred images sprang to his mind of Nasir wearing it. The first time the day he had left Agron for Naevia and the mines, the last time only a few days ago when he had been wearing it coming back from nightly guard duty on the city walls. His hands shaking, he lifted it and buried his face into the folds of threadbare wool. It still carried his scent, a blend of smoke, leather, sweat, and the hay-like fragrance of his hair, and it just smelled so much of _him_ that it brought tears to Agron’s eyes. 

Clutching the cowl to his chest he fell back against the wall and slowly sank down to the ground. Then he buried his face into the grey fabric again and cried like a child.

* * *

Agron was about again with first light, checking on the roman prisoners and seeing them fed. He did not care for them and their presence, and had gladly disposed of them, but Spartacus had declared them his charge, so Agron suppressed thoughts of violence and revenge in favour of duty. True, they were Romans, but his brother had not been killed by a frightened woman heavy with child. 

Spartacus appeared not much later, always an early riser too, and joined Agron for morning meal. There was somewhat stale bread and dried apricots, and Agron forced a bit of both down his throat, as he had done so often during the last days because he felt neither hunger nor appetite. They did not exchange words, but Agron knew that Spartacus, in his silence, tried to offer comfort as well. He knew what Agron was going through as well as Crixus did. 

Their silent contemplation was abruptly brought to an end when Donar came running through the main gate. 

“Spartacus! We have a fucking problem!”

“Speak.”

Donar came closer and suddenly faltered. He was followed by Saxa and Lugo, and all three of them stared at Agron. 

Agron felt his heart begin to race and gritted his teeth. 

“A word,” Donar said to Spartacus.

Spartacus nodded and let Donar drag him into a corner, where the two exchanged some hasty, low spoken words. 

“Agron,” Spartacus said as he hurried back. “Have you checked on the Romans today?”

“Just before we met.”

“Check again.”

Agron frowned, but then he shook his head and headed back inside. 

But as he was about to close the door, he overheard Spartacus instructing Lugo and Saxa that Agron was under no circumstances to leave the villa. 

It was impossible to follow orders and he spun around again. 

“Fuck.” Donar shook his head. “Agron...”

“What is it that I am not supposed to hear?” Agron felt his blood begin to boil. “What secrets are you keeping from me?!”

Spartacus took a deep breath, and closed his hands firmly around Agron’s shoulders. “Agron,” he said sternly, with a hint of warning in his voice. “You are to follow my orders or I shall have you chained to a pillar.”

Agron’s eyes widened and it took all the self-restraint he had to keep himself from punching his leader’s face. 

“Stay here.” Spartacus’ voice left no doubt he meant what he had threatened Agron with. “Do not leave this villa until I say so.” He squeezed Agron’s shoulders again. “Are we clear?”

Agron took another deep breath, his jaw clenched, and nodded.

“The Cilicians have returned and offer another deal.”

If Lugo and Saxa had not been flanking him before and now grabbed both his arms, he might have done something he would have very much regretted. 

“Stand down!” Spartacus stepped closer, meeting Agron’s eyes with their faces inches apart. “This may be what can save us all. And we will not forget about Nasir. We will strike bargain, and once bargain is made and secured, we will confront them about Nasir’s whereabouts. I shall have men secure access to their ships, and they will not escape before we know what we need to know.”

Spartacus loosened his grip on Agron’s shoulders, his eyes firmly meeting Agron’s until the latter was finally able to unclench his jaw enough to nod. His blood was still boiling, however. If he was to follow orders, chains might be not that bad an idea after all. 

Lugo and Saxa were still holding on to his arms, but as he watched Spartacus leave, he was able to relax his body enough so they dared to let him go. And yet, the only thing that kept him in place now was not Spartacus’ order but his promise that the Cilicians would not go unquestioned. 

He paced back and forth like a caged animal as he waited, watched by Lugo and Saxa who would occasionally exchange worried glances. 

“Agron.” 

Agron stopped pacing and looked at Lugo. 

“Promise you shall not turn _berserker_ when you lay eyes on the Cilicians.”

A bitter smile formed on Agron’s face, more a sneer than anything else. “I shall not make promises I may not be able to keep.”

“If they die before giving information, then you have lost your only chance.”

Agron was unable to dissent, and tried to calm himself with another few deep breaths before resuming his pacing.


	5. Chapter 5

When Spartacus and Crixus had reached the villa with the Cilicians in tow, immediate bloodshed had only narrowly been avoided. 

Castus had taken cover behind his shipmates, and Heracleo stood there, arms spread in a helpless gesture of _Why?_ while looking at Spartacus.

Because on the other side of the atrium, Lugo, Donar, Saxa and Nemetes were holding on to Agron who was roaring like an animal. 

“We would break words,” Spartacus said. “About Nasir.”

“Nasir?” Heracleo seemed even more confused now. “Why the fuck should I know anything about him?”

“You fucking treacherous piece of shit!” Agron struggled in the hold of four seasoned warriors who held on to him with all their strength, two to each of his arms. “You rotten cunt!!”

“I have been called such endearments before, but I fail to see what they have to do with your Syrian boy.”

“He was seen leaving with your ship,” Spartacus offered as explanation. “And we would hear your side of the story.”

Heracleo’s head flew around, his eyes wide. “There is no side of the story!” He shook his head again, arms outspread. “I have no knowledge of the boy!”

“Treacherous FUCK!”

“Spill words,” Spartacus said, “or I shall let him lose on you.”

“Then let him!” Heracleo threw his hands up. “Whoever saw it, or claims he saw it, was lying! I have no more words to spill!”

All eyes were on him and his shipmates now, giving the Cilicians hostile looks, and a few hands wandered slowly towards yet sheathed weapons.

The pirates now did the same, and in the deadly silence Agron’s heavy, growling breaths were the only sound.

* * *

Naevia had been at Crixus’ side when the news of the Cilicians had reached them, but now that Spartacus had advised caution and to not give them any reason to suspect upcoming enquiries, she had left the harbour again. Nasir was one of her dearest friends, and she had displayed a similar reaction as Agron had when receiving the news, albeit a less violent one. 

So she was wandering the streets lost in deep thought, and did not pay attention to her whereabouts or where she was treading. She did not see the two screaming, laughing children running after a ball made of rags and strings, and only noticed them when the boy, about ten years of age, careened straight into her as he had not been watching his steps, either.

He stared up at her and his eyes widened. “Apologies!”

A faint smile formed on Naevia’s lips as she saw the child’s shocked expression, but then her mouth fell open as she looked at the boy. 

She reached out and touched the necklace he was wearing, all too familiar an item. “How did you come by this?”

The boy swallowed hard and seemed struck with muteness.

“How did you come by this?!”

“I... I... my sister... she found it but it is not for girls so I took it and I-”

“Your sister found it?”

The boy nodded, visibly scared now. 

“Where is she?”

He pointed down the road where a little girl of maybe six or seven years was watching them while clutching a fold of her skirt between her hands. 

Naevia took a deep breath to calm herself, then approached the child as non-threateningly as she could. 

“That necklace,” she said. “Where did you find it?”

The girl, as intimidated by her as her brother, pointed further down the road. 

“Show me.”

She nervously chewed her lip, but then nodded. Naevia exhaled softly, as scaring the children would get her nowhere, and followed the girl down the street and around the corner into a short blind alley. 

“It was here,” the girl said and pointed at the ground next to a stack of old crates.

“It was just lying there?”

The girl nodded. 

Naevia stared thoughtfully at the spot and the gaps between the cobblestones, but the silent stones gave her no clue. Then she looked at the boy again. 

“I would ask it back,” she said. “I know the rightful owner.”

“But I found it!”

“Your sister found it,” Naevia said, her voice a bit sharper. “And it does not belong to you, it belongs to a friend of mine and I would see it returned.”

“Titus,” the girl hissed at him. “Give it to her! Do you not know who it is?”

The boy Titus looked at his sister, and she shook her head, pointing at Naevia. “She is the warrior princess! The one married to the undefeated Gaul!”

Naevia bit back a laugh that still came out as a snort. “Warrior princess?”

The girl nodded eagerly. “The undefeated Gaul would never wed a normal woman, would he?”

“He... likely would not,” Naevia replied gravely, still fighting laughter despite the situation.

The boy looked at her now, and slipped the necklace over his head. 

“He will be grateful,” Naevia said. “Be on your way, Titus.” Then she looked at the girl. “What name do you go buy?”

“Maia.” She looked up at Naevia with shining eyes. “And I want to be a warrior princess too!”

Naevia shook her head with a fond smile. “Grow for another year or two,” she said. “Then come and find me, and I shall teach you, as Crixus taught me.”

The girl nodded, her eyes bright as stars, and the two children broke into a run. Doubtlessly they would make their mother’s ear bleed now with tales of the warrior princess.

The smile vanished from Naevia’s face now as she turned around again. There were the back walls of houses left and right, and bedrock ahead. 

She went down into a crouch and looked at the necklace.

“How did you get here?” she asked, but the necklace refused to spill its secret. The string had snapped, and Titus had tied it around his slimmer neck with a new knot, but it clearly had been torn and then either been discarded or, more likely, been lost without awareness.

Naevia shoved it into a pouch on her belt and looked around again. And then she narrowed her eyes. 

The crates were empty and easily moved, and once pushed aside revealed a barred, low window which doubtlessly led into the cisterns. Naevia took a deep, long breath and touched the rusted metal bars. As she pulled, it opened, and she didn’t hesitate for another second. 

Metal bars hewn into the stone served as ladder, and she climbed down a shaft that was as deep as three men were high. There was only one tunnel at the bottom, and she cautiously crept along in growing darkness, keeping close to the wall. 

It was not before long that she found another obstacle, a door this time, one made of thick iron bars. It was locked, and in addition to that, a chain was slung around door and frame that was secured with a heavy padlock. 

On the other side of that door she could see the cisterns proper now, a crossroads of two canals, and behind it two more tunnels leading into the darkness. Her eyes began to adjust to the faint light of a single oil lamp fastened to the far wall. 

And then a sharp intake of air escaped her, a hiss in the silence that seemed as loud as a gust of storm. 

There, on the far side across one of the canals, she could make out the form of a naked man shackled to the wall. She could not see his face, but with it being hidden behind long black hair, she didn’t need to. 

She stared helplessly into the murky light, her fingers closed around one of the iron bars of the door so hard that her knuckles turned white. She was just contemplating if she should call out, to reassure him she would get help as quickly as she could, when the wavering, bobbing light in one of the side tunnels accompanied by voices announced the arrival of other people. 

Naevia pressed herself against the wall, but she was hidden in the darkness, and the others now appeared in the light cast by several lamps and torches so she was invisible to them.

One of the men now settled a torch into a ring in the wall, and Naevia could see that the chain which held Nasir’s wrists was pulled through another ring just like it. The chain was long enough that his arms weren’t pulled taut upward, but so short that he couldn’t even touch his face. 

And the men who surrounded him now were too finely dressed to be rebel slaves. 

“Cornelius...” One of them said.

“It will work,” another replied. “Mark my words.”

“This one will not break.”

“He will.” The man called Cornelius stepped closer to Nasir, dug a hand into his hair and pulled it back to look at Nasir’s face. “He will.”

Nasir was wearing a collar, broader than a usual slave collar, and by the way he was visibly struggling to breathe it was obvious that the collar was almost choking him and left him just enough air so he wouldn’t pass out. 

“You know how I feel about the collar,” Cornelius said sternly.

“And you know how I feel about it,” the other man snapped. “It stays in place.”

“He will be of no use to us when he is dead,” Cornelius said and loosened the grip of the collar.

Nasir gulped down some air and grimaced at the Roman before him.

Naevia was baring her teeth in fury, her back pressed against the wall, as she listened to the Romans taunt Nasir with the offer of water without giving him any. 

There was no way she could get past the locked door, so she couldn’t do anything for him now. All she could do was get help, and she turned around again and hurried back to the shaft as fast as she could. 

The harbour lay empty, save a few men guarding the Cilician ships who were definitely not Cilicians themselves, and she was informed that Heracleo had suggested a celebration in Spartacus’ villa. Spartacus had agreed, and they had left not so long ago. 

Naevia broke into a run.

* * *

Agron roared again, and the four other Germans holding on to him were struggling now as well. And then Agron’s roar suddenly pitched as a wet crunching sound made everyone wince; he had just torn a shoulder out of the socket in his furious attempts to get his hands on the Cilicians. 

“Agron!” Naevia had just reached the atrium, completely out of breath. “Agron, calm yourself!”

Agron threw his head around, teeth bared in a silent growl. 

“The Cilicians did not take him!” 

All eyes were now resting on her. 

“Agron, the Cilicians had nothing to do with Nasir’s disappearance! Whoever it was you spoke to, he lied!”

She dug into her pouch and produced the necklace, and Agron’s body went still the very instant. 

“I told you so!” Heracleo said with a pout. 

“Apologies,” Spartacus said to him. “We shall make reparations.” And to Naevia, he said: “Break words.”

“I came across children who had found it in a blind alley close to the harbour. When I went there I discovered an entrance into the cisterns, and I went down to investigate.”

“Did you find him?” Spartacus asked hastily.

Agron, now hanging limply from the arms holding him, stared at her with eyes so wide they were almost completely white.

“I did,” Naevia said hesitantly. “But I could not reach him, the way was barred by a locked iron door.”

“We have to find him,” Agron said hoarsely and staggered to his feet. He closed his eyes with a groan as he became aware of his shoulder and gulped down some air. “We have to get him out!”

“And we will!” Spartacus said, holding up his hand in a gesture of peace. “Calm yourself!”

“I guess that means celebration will be postponed,” Heracleo said mournfully.

“We celebrate once Nasir is returned to us, then we have twice the reason to,” Spartacus replied firmly. Then he turned around to the others. “Arm yourselves, and stand ready. Agron, have your shoulder seen to.”

Then he stared straight ahead at no one and nothing. “Whatever it is, lurking down in the cisterns, we shall flush it out.”


	6. Chapter 6

Everyone was ready after a short time, as Lugo and Nemetes, both experienced warriors and not confronted with an issue like this for the first time, had set Agron’s shoulder with little ado. It was, thankfully, only the left one so he would still be able to fight, if necessary. 

Naevia had counted nine men, but there was no telling how many more might be hiding down there. Standing ready now were Agron and the other four Germans, Naevia, and Crixus. Gannicus was nowhere to be found and thus, likely unable to aid anyway.

Spartacus tasked four more men, in teams of two, to find other entrances into the sewer while the others got ready, but time was of essence, and no one wanted to spend a day or more stumbling around in the cisterns. Additionally, there was a risk of discovery, paired with even greater risk that the Romans, once alarmed, might simply kill Nasir to avoid identification. 

“Those Romans are responsible for the vanished grain then,” Spartacus said as he looked at the others. “And the man who has spoken to Agron at the harbour has to be one of them as well, leading us on false trail.”

“Romans, hiding in the cisterns like rats,” Donar said and spat out.

“As we did, hiding from them below Capua,” Spartacus replied, and Donar shook his head.

“But is there no map of the cisterns?” Naevia gritted her teeth. “Is there no way to hasten this?”

“I have found none,” Spartacus replied. “And Laeta knows of none, either.”

Naevia shook her head and everyone looked up as Agron entered the atrium again, buckling his sword. His face was calm, but it was a deadly calm. 

“Spartacus.” Castus stepped forward, albeit very hesitantly. 

Agron looked up with murder in his eyes, but exhaled in a huff of breath like an angry bull before looking away again. 

“Castus?” Spartacus looked at the dark-skinned pirate.

“I would need access to my ship,” Castus replied. “I can help you get past the door.”

“You can?”

Castus smiled, with a twitch of his head. “I am a pirate, and a thief. I have yet to encounter a lock that would not yield before me.”

“Settled then.” Spartacus nodded at Saxa. “Saxa, go with Castus, let the guards know he is allowed to board.” Then he looked at the others. “Meet them at the harbour.”

“Are you not coming?” Agron asked, keeping his voice calm with great effort.

“I stay with Heracleo, discussing business.” Spartacus clapped Agron’s good shoulder. “I have faith in you and the others.”

Agron nodded, took a deep breath, and jerked his head at the others to follow him. 

They met Castus and Saxa at the harbour, and Castus was now armed as well, grim determination on his face. Agron nodded, face set tight but clearly offering an olive branch if only temporarily, and Castus returned the gesture. They were on the same side in this, their only concern getting Nasir to safety. 

“How sure are you of this?” Crixus asked Castus, clearly not trusting the Cilician either. “We cannot risk any light.”

Castus shrugged. “I will have to make it work.”

They all followed Naevia’s lead now until they had reached the gate to the cisterns. In order to avoid rousing suspicion Naevia had hidden the entrance behind the crates again, but the crates were quickly pushed aside. One by one they slipped through the narrow window and climbed down to the bottom of the shaft. 

Slowly, keeping low to the ground and close to the wall, they crept along the corridor until they had reached the door. The lamp was still there, and in the dim light they could see that Nasir was still chained to the wall, just like Naevia had seen him last. 

Agron tensed and Crixus closed his hand around Agron’s upper arm. “Stay calm,” he whispered. “You have to stay calm until we can get past the door.”

Agron nodded, grinding his teeth, yet Crixus did not let go of his arm. “Let us hope stealth will see him free,” he whispered again. “But if not, do not storm out like a raging beast. We do not know how many we face. We all have to be out of this fucking tunnel for fastest attack if we cannot avoid a fight. We have to be quick lest they kill him out of sheer spite.”

Agron nodded again, and pressed himself against the wall as Castus pushed past the others. 

The Cilician reached into his shirt and produced a small, square pouch. Then he eyed the lock of the door, the hinges, and the padlock that held the chain. One of the items in his pouch was a small vial, and he uncorked it and dripped some oil onto the hinges, rubbing it into the gaps with a finger. Then he focussed on the padlock with a slow exhale. 

“Hold the chain,” Castus whispered. “Keep it in place so we can avoid sound.”

Then he went down into a crouch and produced two small tools. Above him, Donar and Saxa now took hold of the chain, while Lugo and Nemetes watched their backs further down in the tunnel. 

Castus had just started working on the padlock when they could hear voices, and only moments later the same happened that Naevia had observed before. A group of Romans, about ten men, left one of the side tunnels and gathered around the man shackled to the wall. 

Crixus tightened his hold around Agron’s arm. 

“I told you he will not break.”

“He will.” It was the man who had been called Cornelius, and again, he went down into a crouch before his prisoner. “He will.”

He lifted Nasir’s face again, and the young Syrian looked back at him with a blank face while struggling to breathe. 

Agron’s body went as taut as a bowstring, and Crixus held on even tighter. 

“I still do not see your point,” the first man said. “Even if you break him, there is no way we can do it with every slave in the city.”

“We will not have to.” Cornelius looked up at the other man. “This one is important. He belongs to one of Spartacus’ generals. If we can reform him, others may see-”

“You are fucking deranged, Cornelius,” a third man spat. “He has no valuable information and he is a risk. Kill him and toss him into the harbour. Let us be done with this fucking madness.”

“They will not know he is here,” Cornelius said. “Marcellus has spoken to his man himself, and they lay blame on the fucking pirates now.”

Then Cornelius looked at Nasir again who was breathing heavily, every intake of breath a wheeze that he had to force past the choking hold of the collar. 

Castus was still fiddling with the lock, his lips moving in silent curses. 

“Now,” Cornelius said in an amiable, conversational tone. “Let us see you free of this and break a few more words.” 

He reached out and loosened the collar again, and Nasir fell forward with a high pitched gasp. He was greedily gulping down air with harsh, heavy breaths, his eyes on the floor, when Cornelius looked over his shoulder at the other men. 

“So.” Cornelius addressed Nasir again. “I have a few questions.” He held out a water skin with a smile.

“I have told you all I know,” Nasir rasped after swallowing hard, his eyes on the water, so close and still out of reach. 

“Oh, this time I am not after information about Spartacus. You told me indeed what you know, and that is nothing more than we could glean from blending in with the rebels. No, this time it is you I want to talk about.”

Nasir looked at the Roman with a sneer on his face that was not very convincing. He was clearly being pushed towards the verge of exhaustion. His eyes kept darting towards the water skin.

“You were a body slave, were you not?”

Nasir tore his eyes away from the water and nodded.

“And your Dominus, a wealthy man?”

“He had means,” Nasir replied, his voice rough.

“And you, trusted amanuensis, taking care of him and his needs. A high rank among the slaves, is it not?”

Nasir’s breathing was calming down now, and after a few more breaths, he nodded. 

“Tell me, your Dominus, was he a cruel man? Did he beat you?”

After a long pause, Nasir shook his head. 

On the other side of the door, Castus was still trying to get the padlock to cooperate, and even though he moved with greatest caution, his lockpick almost broke as he tried to twist it. The sound was like thunder in the silence and Castus froze, a soundless curse on his lips, or maybe it was a prayer. A few heads were turned and the rebels held their breaths. 

A scurrying rat vanishing into a hole was what saved them all. 

The Romans relaxed again and Castus shook his head. Sweat was beading on his forehead.

“And now look at you.” Cornelius shook his head. “Covered in grime and blood, fighting for your life all the time, and all you know is blood and war.” He sighed. “Facing a gruesome death every day.”

Nasir looked up at him and licked cracked lips. 

“If your life was not that bad, your master not that cruel, then why did you follow Spartacus when he asked you to join his rebellion?”

Nasir looked at him, and Cornelius looked back. 

“Because he did not ask, did he?” Cornelius said after a small pause.

After another moment, Nasir shook his head. “He did not ask.” 

“No, he would not have.” Cornelius shook his head. “And what choice did you have? They would have killed you had you tried to run. He stormed the villa, killed your Dominus, and declared you should take up arms against the Romans. He never asked anyone if they wanted to join him in the first place.”

The padlock had finally yielded, and Castus opened it with greatest care and infinitely slow. Donar and Saxa were tightening the chain now so it wouldn’t touch the bars, and between the three of them, they slowly and cautiously manoeuvred the chain through the bars link by link so it wouldn’t touch the metal. It seemed to take forever.

“It must have been frightening,” Cornelius went on, not taking his eyes off Nasir, “suddenly being thrown into this madness without a warning. It is so very understandable that you latched on to the first man to offer friendly words. A strong protector, no doubt.”

Nasir didn’t reply.

Agron’s breathing was fast and shallow, and Crixus still did not remove his hand from Agron’s arm. 

“Frightened and confused,” Cornelius went on. “No wonder they made you believe in their cause.” He shook his head. “And here you are now. A fugitivus without future save a bloody death or the cross. And all because of one man’s thirst for blood and revenge, a man who does not care one bit about the fate of those he drags into doom with him. Talks about freedom, but what is freedom really? What does it mean? What is freedom when the only choice you have is to fight and die? Does freedom mean you have nothing else to lose?”

Still and silent, Nasir looked at the man, his lips tight. 

“Is your life really better now than it was when you still had the comfort of a villa, a bath, food, a bed, clean clothes, and the respect of the other slaves as well as the benevolence of a kind master?”

Nasir still did not reply.

“Was your life really that bad?”

Agron thought about the ‘wild little dog’ that had made an attempt on Spartacus’ life because he had taken everything that had been of worth to him. A man who had been unconvinced for a time after they had set him free. His throat went dry and he shook his head. Crixus was gritting his teeth as well. 

The chain had finally come free, and Donar took it and hurried back into the tunnel, to dispose of it out of hearing range. Castus now focussed on the lock of the door. 

“We all wish sometimes we could turn back the wheel of time,” Cornelius went on. “Yet time is a river and we are carried in the current like leaves. We cannot leave the river and walk back along the banks, can we now?”

Nasir lowered his eyes and stared at the stony ground. “What do you want to hear of me?”

“An honest answer.” Cornelius took Nasir’s chin and lifted it so he could look at his face. “We cannot go back in time, but sometimes, the river will branch. And then we can make a choice. To continue, or to change.”

“What change would it be?” Nasir cleared his throat and winced. “Give up the fight and end on the cross?”

“No.” Cornelius shook his head. “I am giving you the choice that Spartacus would not.”

“I do not understand.” Nasir’s voice was a husky whisper now.

“I am offering another way,” Cornelius said. “Another life.”

Castus had to add another drop of oil into the lock, and sweat was running into his eyes. Donar had come back now, and he crouched down behind him and rested a hand on the pirate’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze. Castus took a few deep breaths to steady himself and focussed on the lock again. 

Now Nasir met Cornelius’ eyes for the first time. “Is such a thing possible?” He whispered.

Crixus’ fingers were digging hard into Agron’s skin now, hard enough to leave marks. Agron was frozen however, and he stared at Nasir while shaking his head over and over again. 

“It is,” Cornelius said gently and removed his hand. “For you, this one time. I offer freely, and you need but take it.”

Nasir stared at him for another moment, and then his head fell forward, his face vanishing behind a curtain of hair. A hoarse sob escaped him and his shoulders started to shake. 

“It is so easy now,” Cornelius said, voice still soft. “So easy. It is what you want, is it not? To have everything back what they took from you?”

Nasir’s shoulders were still shaking.

“Is that not what you want?”

Another hoarse sob, and Nasir gulped down some air. His voice was hardly audible. “Yes.”

“Yes...?” Cornelius asked after a moment.

Nasir swallowed another sob and slowly, lifted his head. “Yes, Dominus.”


	7. Chapter 7

Agron’s body went limp and he sank against the wall. He shook his head, eyes wide in shock, and Castus froze as he stared at Nasir and the Romans through the bars of the door. None of the rebels seemed to be able to breathe for a moment.

Cornelius rested his hand on Nasir’s hair with a fond smile. “Tell me again, what is your name?”

Nasir took a few breaths with parted lips. “Tiberius, Dominus.”

Agron shook his head again in desperate denial.

Now Cornelius got up and turned around to the other Romans. “Did you see that?”

“I do not trust him,” one of them said.

“Oh, but I do,” Cornelius replied. “Unchain him.”

After a moment’s hesitation another of the Romans stepped forward and lowered himself down next to Nasir’s trembling form. He unlocked the shackles around his wrists, and Nasir fell flat onto his stomach before he could catch himself. And whining, he crawled towards Cornelius to cower at his feet. 

“I still do not trust him!” A sword was drawn and pointed at Nasir’s throat.

“Dominus!” Nasir curled up into a ball, his voice high-pitched in fear. 

“Octavianus!” Cornelius rested a hand on Nasir’s head. “Remove the blade!”

The man called Octavianus reluctantly pulled the blade back and sheathed it again. 

And behind them in the darkness outside the circle of light, the barred door finally opened. Oiled hinges did not make a sound, as little as the rebels creeping along the shadows. 

“Octavianus,” Cornelius said. “I know you do not like to admit I was right, but look at him now.”

Nasir was kneeling at Cornelius’ feet, his head almost touching the Roman’s foot. Then he closed both hands around Cornelius’ ankle with a sob. 

“Forgive me, Dominus!” He sobbed. “Forgive me! I did not mean for this to happen!”

“Of course you did not,” Cornelius said mildly and patted Nasir’s head. “But everything will be again as it should be.”

Nasir did not stop sobbing and pressed his forehead against Cornelius’ shin. Cornelius looked down at him for a moment, then withdrew his foot and lowered himself down. 

“Tiberius, would you have water now?”

Nasir looked up and swallowed. “Yes, Dominus…”

“But do you think you deserve it?”

Nasir hesitated for only a small moment. “I deserve what you see fit, Dominus.”

At that moment, the rebels were finally in position, and on Crixus signal attacked as one, their screams cutting through the silence like an axe.

“The rebels!” One of the Romans bellowed. “To arms!”

Crixus tackled the first Roman with a roar, and Saxa followed with a scream. Thrown off their guard the Romans needed too long to react properly before the rebels were upon them, and clanging of steel mingled with cries of fury and pain, all echoing eerily from the low stone ceiling above. 

Cornelius was one of the few men who did not have a sword, and he pressed himself against the nearest wall to escape the carnage around him. Nasir crawled out of the battle as well to not get underfoot, towards Cornelius who was watching the fighting with blank horror. 

A severed hand still clutching a gladius landed right in front of them, accompanied by a howl of pain and Cornelius’ horrified shriek. And then Agron stood before them, blood splattered across his face and blade poised ready to deliver the final blow.

“Tiberius!” Cornelius screamed. “Defend me!!”

Nasir grabbed the severed hand, twisted the sword out of unresisting fingers and, crouching like an animal in front of the trembling Roman and ready to attack, he held out the blade before him. He faced Agron with a snarl. 

Agron’s blade wavered and his face fell, eyes wide in confusion. He shook his head. “Nasir,” he whispered, pleading in his eyes. 

Nasir still had his teeth bared.

“Tiberius! Kill him!”

Agron shook his head, swallowing hard. “Nasir…” His voice broke on the word. 

His face distorting into a grimace of fury Nasir lifted the blade with a growl, but as Agron lifted his own blade to deflect the blow, Nasir spun around and buried the blade into Cornelius’ abdomen. 

Blood welling out of his mouth, Cornelius stared at him in shock and horror. 

“Hubris was your downfall,” Nasir rasped, and twisted the sword in the wound like a key in a lock, making Cornelius howl in pain. “It will be the downfall of Rome itself!” He shoved the blade further in on the last word, and Cornelius twitched a few times more before he went still. 

Nasir doubled over and could just about catch himself on his hands. Breathing heavily he lifted his head and looked up at Agron who seemed like chiselled from stone. 

“...Nasir?”

“Kill them all,” Nasir rasped and sank down next to his ‘master’, unable to keep himself upright any longer. 

Agron took a deep breath and inclined his head with a nod. Then he exhaled with puffed cheeks and bared teeth, his face distorting in fury, and jumped up again with a roar. 

Most of the Romans were already dead, and Donar, Lugo and Agron now vanished down the tunnel where the Romans had come from. They found a few more Romans that they quickly disposed of, and also found Nasir’s other possessions there. 

But while the others were still fighting the last of the Romans, one of them suddenly turned around and raced towards Cornelius’ body and Nasir who was helplessly rolling onto his back. 

“Traitorous fuck!” The Roman screamed and lifted his blade, grasping his chance at killing Nasir after all. 

Nasir could do no more than lift his arms in a futile gesture of protection when a blade sliced through the man from behind. The sword was pulled back and the man collapsed, and Nasir looked up at Castus who looked at him with a worried expression on his face, his blade still dripping blood. Nasir nodded, his breathing hard and fast, and collapsed again. 

Agron barely took the time to sheathe his blade before he fell onto his knees next to Nasir’s unmoving body. 

“Nasir…” He cautiously gathered him up in his arms. “Nasir?”

Nasir’s eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes with a soft groan. A weak smile formed on his lips as he looked up at Agron. 

“You scared me,” Agron said in a trembling voice. “You really, really scared me.”

“Apologies,” Nasir whispered. His voice was heavy, almost slurred. “I was relishing the moment... of revenge...” He swallowed and licked his cracked lips. “I was thinking… of a way to gain trust to escape… then I heard the sound…” The small smile was back. “I hoped it was no rat, and when… when I saw movement in the shadows behind the Romans… I provided… distraction.”

Agron swallowed hard and brushed a few hairs from Nasir’s face. 

“Is there water?” Nasir whispered huskily. “They barely gave enough to... to keep me alive...”

Castus dropped the bloodied sword and picked up the water skin that still lay beside Cornelius’ dead body. Then he knelt down next to Agron. Nasir greedily eyed the water, but Castus shook his head. 

“I have to give it slow,” he said in a low voice. “You did not have water for a long time. If you drink too fast, you will puke and feel even worse.”

Agron looked up at him. “How would you know?”

Castus met his eyes, unflinching now. “Have you ever run dry of water while at sea?”

Agron swallowed and shook his head, then lowered his eyes. Castus now moved closer and offered Nasir water, but only gave a few small sips before taking the skin away again despite Nasir begging for more. Castus waited for a few moments before giving Nasir a few more sips. 

The water restored some of Nasir’s strength and his eyes became clearer, but he closed them in exhaustion when Castus took the water skin away. Both Agron and Castus looked down at Nasir’s face, and then Agron took a deep, heavy breath. 

“I am in your debt,” he said slowly. “Your actions saved his life.”

“I could not have done otherwise.” Castus’ voice was heavy and slow as well. He cautiously touched Nasir’s arm, and this time Agron did not react.

Now Nasir opened his eyes again and looked at Castus with sadness in his eyes. “Apologies,” he said softly. “I cannot give you what you seek.”

“I know,” Castus replied with a wistful smile. “It was never mine to ask for.”

“I can only offer friendship,” Nasir said, a sad smile on his lips too. “Even if I know it will not be enough.”

“It will be a treasured gift,” Castus replied, and then hesitantly looked at Agron again. 

Castus’ and Agron’s eyes met for a moment, and a lot passed between them during that time. Then they both looked at Nasir again. 

“Help me up,” Nasir said after a moment and leaned forward. 

“You can hardly sit, let alone stand,” Agron protested.

Nasir looked at him, his face grim. “They bound me and dragged me here by my hair like an animal,” he said. “I shall leave this place on my own two feet like a man.”

Now Agron nodded and took one of his hands. Castus took the other, and together they helped Nasir onto his feet. He swayed a little, but remained upright. 

At that moment they could hear the footfall of two running men, and moment later Lydon and Timocles appeared around a corner. 

“We found another entrance,” Lydon said. “Not too far from here.”

Agron looked at Nasir, but saw only determination in his face. He nodded and looked at the other two gladiators. “Lead the way.”

“Pause,” Naevia said and got up. She had been kneeling next to one of the dead Romans and had sliced his tunic up with her blade, and now Agron helped Nasir wrap the fabric around his waist so he was no longer completely naked. 

Nasir was leaning onto Agron’s arm, and he gritted his teeth as he walked. But he was adamant and managed to reach the other entrance on his own. Climbing out of that hole was easier as the shaft leading down was not as deep, but he was at the end of his tether when he had reached level ground again. 

He did not protest when Agron swept him into his arms to carry him bridal style back to the villa. 

The medicus checked on Nasir as soon as they arrived, but he needed no more treatment than a bath and some ointment applied to the scrapes at his back and legs caused by the stone wall and floor, and those caused by the manacles around his wrists. That, and food and rest. And thanks to Heracleo, they now had all the bread they needed. 

Once Agron had deposited Nasir safely in their bed and had tucked him in like a child, he sat down on the floor at the head end of the bed to look at Nasir properly for the first time. The ordeal was etched into every line of his face, but he was alive, he was strong and resilient, and he would recover. 

Someone stepped into the doorframe and Agron looked up to see Castus stand there, his eyes on Nasir with a worried look. 

Agron slowly got up and walked towards him. 

“How is he?” Castus asked.

“Battered and in dire need of rest,” Agron replied. “But he will recover.”

Castus nodded with a breath of relief. 

“I meant what I said,” Agron said again. “I am in your debt.”

“He is alive and safe,” Castus replied. “That is all that matters now.”

Agron nodded, took a few slow breaths with tight lips, and then swallowed. “I know that... I mean...” He shook his head with a sigh. “I would have peace between us,” he then said in a low, rough voice.

“As would I,” Castus replied. 

After another moment, Agron hesitantly held out his right hand. Castus looked down, back at Agron’s face, and returned the gesture. They clasped forearms and exchanged a nod. 

“I shall leave him to his rest now,” Castus said as he stepped back. “Take good care of him.”

Agron turned around to look at Nasir. “Always,” he said, and looked back at Castus. “Apologies for being a simple shit.”

A wry grin tugged at a corner of Castus’ mouth. “Apologies for provoking you.”

After a second, the two exchanged another nod and Castus left again. Agron headed back to the bedside, and Nasir opened his eyes with a tired but warm smile. 

“It lifts heart to know you made peace.”

Agron managed a smile as well. “I would suck his cock to make you smile like that.”

Nasir chuckled under his breath. “Maybe one day he will take you up on the offer.”

Agron choked on his own spit and he hastily looked back towards the – thankfully empty – doorframe, and that made Nasir laugh. 

His smile softened again when he looked back at Agron. Now Agron took a shaky breath and swallowed, but could no longer meet Nasir’s eyes. 

“Forgive me,” he said, shaking his head. “Please forgive me my words.”

“Agron...”

Agron hesitantly looked up, and found Nasir smile at him. He rested a hand on Agron’s cheek and shook his head. “I know I walked out in anger, unwilling to exchange more harsh words with you. But I know you.” He caressed Agron’s cheekbone with his thumb. “You speak often with anger clouding your mind, even if rarely to me. I know you, you stubborn, hot-headed fool.” 

Agron stared at him with slightly parted lips. 

“I know you did not mean your words as you said them. Forgiveness has long since been granted.”

Agron tried to smile and took Nasir’s hand, closed his fingers around it and pressed a kiss onto Nasir’s knuckles before resting the back of the hand against his forehead. 

“I do not deserve you,” he muttered huskily. “Stupid shit that I am.”

“Agron...” 

Agron looked up again, and found Nasir still smile. 

“You may be a stupid shit,” Nasir said, “but you are _my_ stupid shit.”

A small huff of breath escaped Agron at that, and he tried to smile at Nasir with moisture glistening in his eyes. He kissed Nasir’s hand again before resting it back on the blanket. 

“You need to rest now,” he said softly.

“I know,” Nasir said. “But I would do so in your arms.”

Agron took a deep breath, nodded with his lips pressed together, and got up. He had gotten rid of most of his armour earlier to clean Roman blood off his skin, and now he shed the last bits and his caligae before sliding under the blanket as well. 

Nasir turned into his embrace with a sigh, and rested his face against Agron’s chest. Agron closed his arms around him and buried his face into Nasir’s hair, still a bit moist from the recent bath, and closed his eyes as well. 

Nasir quickly fell asleep, and as he listened to Nasir’s deep and even breathing, Agron relaxed and pressed a soft kiss into Nasir’s hair. And if a tear of relief trickled into the black, silky strands, no one was there to see it. Agron relished in the relief of holding him again, inhaling the clean scent of Nasir’s hair, until he finally let sleep claim him as well.

In a way, Cornelius had been right after all: Everything was again as it should be.


End file.
